LXIV.
It is incumbent to sing of so much renown,
The tumult of fire, of thunder, and tempest,
The glorious gallantry of the knight of conflict. [167a]
The ruddy reapers of war are thy desire, [167b]
Thou man of toil, [167c] but the worthless thou beheadest; [167d]
The whole length of the land shall hear of thee in battle;
With thy shield upon thy shoulder, thou dost incessantly cleave
With thy blade, [167e] until blood flows [167f] like bright wine out of glass vessels; [167g]
As the contribution [168a] for mead thou claimest gold;
Wine nourished was Gwaednerth, [168b] the son of Llywri.